


3:16am

by elisela



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Soft Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela
Summary: It’s been the same view since Blythe. A straight line of highway under his bright headlights, endless desert passing by beneath the steady hum of the truck tires. Christopher’s soft breathing in the back seat, the glowing lights of Indio dot the horizon as the clock on the dash ticks over to 1:31am. There’s no music to distract him from his thoughts, the script he’s carefully planning in his head that he hopes won’t die when he finally sees Buck.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 350





	3:16am

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awashleyno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awashleyno/gifts).



> To my beautiful Ashley on her birthday.

It’s been the same view since Blythe. A straight line of highway under his bright headlights, endless desert passing by beneath the steady hum of the truck tires. Christopher’s soft breathing in the back seat, the glowing lights of Indio dot the horizon as the clock on the dash ticks over to 1:31am. There’s no music to distract him from his thoughts, the script he’s carefully planning in his head that he hopes won’t die when he finally sees Buck. 

They’d left El Paso in a hurry; he’d missed Buck’s call originally, busy talking with his sisters as Sophia’s wedding brunch stretched into the afternoon. It wasn’t until half an hour later that Chris asked to borrow his phone and said, “Buck left you a voicemail,” that he’d realized. There was a moment that he’d thought _I’ll listen to it later_ , but Buck—Buck never leaves voicemails. He calls, hangs up, and texts instead. But Eddie had no unread text messages, so he’d found a quiet corner in the restaurant, brought the phone to his ear, and listened.

_Hey Eddie. Uh. I’m kinda—trapped, and there’s water—I’m really starting to hate water. I didn’t want to do this like this but I thought they’d be able to get me out by now so—look, I love you. I think you knew that. I shouldn’t have waited so long to tell you. I love you, and I love Chris, and I want you both to know that in case—in case._

The call didn’t end there, the rest was filled with Buck’s carefully measured breathing until it had abruptly cut off. He’d gotten Chris, told Sophia there was an emergency, and they’d pulled onto I-10 an hour and fifteen minutes later. He would have driven straight through if it hadn’t been for Chris, so their dinner was filled with restless shuffling on both their parts, downing hamburgers as fast as possible at an In-n-Out in Tucson and Chris promising he was fine when Eddie suggested they walk around the block before getting back in the truck. He hadn’t wanted to tell Chris what was happening, but eleven is too old to hide the fact that your best friend might be dying. 

It was just after 1:00pm when he’d listened to Buck’s message; at 3:52pm he’d finally gotten in touch with Chim, who swore colorfully and said he wasn’t on shift and he’d call Maddie. At 4:28pm, Bobby called to tell him that Buck was in surgery; they’d gotten him out of the building with a punctured lung and internal bleeding. At 6:15pm, Maddie let him know that Buck was in a recovery room, and at 10:34pm Chim had texted that he and Maddie were heading home, but the nurses knew to expect Eddie whenever he showed up. 

His eyes are gritty with exhaustion, pushing on 20 hours since he woke up, his body feeling the adrenaline come-down after hours of anxiety and sheer, mind-numbing terror. 

Palm Springs passes in a blur; he rolls the windows down through the San Bernardino valley, the cold rushing air forcing his eyes open until they hit Los Angeles County. 

It’s 3:16am when he parks the truck at the hospital and reluctantly wakes Christopher up, keeping an arm on his shoulders as they make their way down the hallway to the charge nurse’s desk. “We’re here for Evan Buckley,” he says quietly. Christopher’s body is a welcome weight against his side; the knowledge that Buck is alive hasn’t yet sunk in, he still feels untethered, ready to float away. 

Buck is awake when they lead him into the room, Chris gripping his hand tighter before they step through the door before letting out a soft, tired sound. Eddie’s heart stutters to a stop when Buck smiles at them, soft and sleepy. He thinks he forgets to breathe for a moment, his chest starts to burn as Chris makes his way to Buck’s bedside and grabs his hand. 

“You should be asleep, buddy,” Buck whispers. His voice is rough, but he brings his other hand around to the back of Chris’ neck and kisses the top of his head before leaning back against his pillow. 

“Dad said I could go to abuela’s but I wanted to see you,” Chris says. 

“Come up here,” Buck says, and Eddie finally intervenes. 

“He’ll be fine over here,” Eddie says, motioning to the small couch placed under the window. At eleven, Chris is too big to sleep in a hospital bed with someone who’s injured. “Or we can go, I—we just needed to see you.”

“We’ll stay,” Chris says. He leans into Buck one more time, kissing his shoulder before moving away; Eddie watches as he settles into the couch, turns over, and falls asleep. Without his buffer, Eddie is suddenly terrified. 

“Eddie,” Buck says.

He pulls a chair close to the bed and sinks down on it; Buck is watching him, soft and open. He doesn’t know what to say—everything he’d practiced sounds too heavy, too much, too emotional now that Buck is in front of him, looking like he doesn’t belong in a hospital bed at all except for the large bruise on his left cheek. “We can go,” he says. They probably should leave; Buck needs sleep, not to be spending his energy reassuring Eddie. 

“Stay,” Buck says. “You got my message?”

Eddie nods. 

“It’s okay,” Buck whispers. “You don’t have to say anything—”

“I want to,” Eddie says, reaching out and grabbing Buck’s hand from where he’s placed it on the mattress. “Buck, I knew. I didn’t want to hear it like that. I think I’m just—”

“I love you, Eddie,” Buck says, squeezing his hand. “I’m okay, everything’s okay, and I love you.”

All the tension floods out of him and he tilts forward and folds his arms on the bed near Buck’s hip, burying his head in them. He takes a deep breath and then another, tries to release the ache in his soul that had told him it was a deathbed confession, that Buck’s words were an act of desperation that would be dismissed when he took his next breath. Buck’s hand is in his hair, stroking through it slowly, and Eddie breathes in time with it, calming the frantic drumbeat of his heart. When he finally raises his head, he stands up and leans close to Buck, one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his cheek. 

“I love you, too,” he says quietly. “But you knew that.” 

Buck’s smile is slow and hopeful as he reaches up to cover Eddie’s hand with his own. “I did,” he says, turning his head to press a kiss to Eddie’s palm. “But it’s really good to hear.”


End file.
